On the Perils of Public Education
by Salmagundi
Summary: Written for the Hetalia Remix as a rewrite of "Is America Smarter Than a Fifth Grader". Is he really? England isn't convinced. USxUK


On the Perils of Public Education

-

A/N: This is my entry for the HetaliaRemix. It's a rewrite of Strawberrylaugh's story "Is America Smarter Than a Fifth Grader"

This turned out very differently than the original and probably broke a few rules of the Remix too.. When I found out who I was remixing for, I so wanted to do this fic but I couldn't find a way to manage, so I was going to do one of the others. Then inspiration hit and I decided to try my hand at this story again, with a bit more success this time, I hope..

-

"I think he's going for it!"

England hadn't even been paying attention to the television after a certain point - in fact, he'd been patently ignoring it. For one thing, it was hard to see anything with all of the idiots crammed in front of the screen. For another... well, he just wasn't interested. He shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and deliberately turning further away from the crowd. Let them gawk if they must, he didn't care.

He hadn't even asked to be involved with this nonsense in the first place.

-

"No." It was his automatic response whenever America asked him for favours of any kind. It had taken him quite a while to learn to react so quickly, but he'd figured out that if he didn't nip things in the bud, they would soon get past the point of reasoning.

"Arthurrrr..." There was that tone again, the one he'd been expecting. "I'm going to be on television! You have to watch!"

"I beg to differ, Alfred. I don't _have_ to do anything."

A silent pout, luckily England knew better than to look in America's direction. It was when America made that soft whine in his throat, like a kicked puppy, that England groaned and began to rub at his temples. Why did the damn yank need to behave like such a child when he didn't get what he wanted? Worse, why wasn't England better at telling him to sod off and act his age? "Fine, Alfred. I'll watch your show. But you have to stop with that infernal whimpering."

America's mood did a rapid 180 and England found the air being driven from his lungs as he got a lapful of enthusiastic nation. "Thanks, Arthur! This means a lot to me."

_I bet it does._

"It'll be awesome!"

_Yes. Awesome for __**you**__._

"You won't regret it."

_Oh, I bet I will..._

-

There was a chorus of groans from in front of the television and England blinked, turning his head a little to look at the gathered mob from the corner of his eye. A question was on his lips, but someone blurted out the answer before he actually had to ask.

"American History? I think this show is rigged!"

England let out his breath, just a slow, quiet exhale. If anyone should be aware of American history, it would be America, himself. Then again, this was American History as taught to fifth graders. It was bound to be different from America's personal experience. England clutched at his cup a bit more tightly, curling over his drink and trying to look bored.

-

France was the first to show up on his doorstep. "Bonjour, Arthur!" He called out breezily, pushing into the house as soon as England opened the door. England was too flabbergasted to kick him out immediately, a fact he would find himself regretting later on. He always did, with France.

"What are you doing here?" England demanded, following France into the other room, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. His fingers just missed grabbing hold of France's collar as the flambouyant nation whirled to give him that self-satisfied cat grin.

"Ah, Arthur, have you forgotten? You invited me!"

It took England a few seconds to respond, since he had no clue what France was talking about. "...no I didn't."

"Ah ah ah..." France tutted, shaking a finger. "Yes, you did."

"No, I di-" England was cut off as an invitation was shoved in front of his nose. He went cross-eyed for a moment trying to get a look at it, then snatched it from France's hand. 'You're invited!' Began the opening line, then beneath was England's address and the date. "...I'm going to wring that idiot's stupid neck!" His fingers clenched as he envisioned curling them around America's throat and throttling him.

"I wasn't going to come-" France began, with a coy little flourish of one hand.

'Then why did you?' England thought, eyes narrowed into thin slits.

"-But dear Alfred was so enthusiastic about his appearance on that television program that I could not bear to deny him."

Despite his promise to America, England hadn't actually intended to watch. He had the sneaking suspicion that America must have figured this out somehow and sent France along to make sure he had the television turned to the proper channel. Rubbing at his throbbing temples, England let out his breath in a slow sigh. "Fine. Just keep your hands to yourself."

"Oui!" France replied, so glibly that England knew there was no chance of it happening. He made sure he was sitting at the far end of the couch, away from France, and he turned the telly on. For a moment, he thought the sound of knocking was actually coming from the speakers, then he realized that someone was at the door. "You'd better answer that, Arthur," France cooed, making no move to stand up himself.

Oh for the love of... England pushed himself to his feet, stalking over to the door. Who could it be at this hour?

"England!" Italy crowed, tumbling in the front door. A few seconds later, Poland waved and slipped past him. Then, before England could shut the door, there was a cascade effect - several nations pushing into the house in a cluster while England just stood there with his mind sputtering as he tried to figure out what was going on. It took him a while to react, long enough that the crowd had already dispersed into the sitting room and the kitchen. England shoved the door shut hastily, and heard Sealand yelling at him from the other side as he turned the lock.

"What are all of you doing- oh." Words cut off as he saw that most of the nations were carrying the same invitations as France. England grabbed hold of the nearest one, Spain, dragging him over and demanding, "You don't even like most of America's shows! Why did you accept his invitation!"

Spain just blinked at him, foggily, "Ah... hola, Arthur! What were you asking? Also, where is the free alcohol you promised in your note?"

"A...alcohol..." England took a look at that note again. 'Free food and beer' was written across the bottom. He clenched his fist, crumpling the paper.

"Si, alcohol, where do you keep it?" A pause. "Arthur? Your face is turning red..."

"I'm going to bloody _murder_ him!"

-

The crowd in front of the television fell silent enough that England could actually hear what the host was saying. _"What American pilot was the first person to exceed the speed of sound in an airplane?"_

Aviation? America loved that. England knew this well because America was always going on about his pilots. Just mentioning planes was sure to get him all gushy. So really, America should have no problem with this question. England let out a breath, telling himself that he was just relieved this entire debacle would be over with soon and he wouldn't have to deal with the rabble anymore.

-

"So do you think he can do it?" The couch was overflowing and they'd already stolen every extra chair from the sitting room and almost all from the dining room.

"America's not the brightest bulb... but it is American fifth graders we're talking about."

"Pfft. I bet the hamburger bastard loses anyway!"

"Ve~ Romano, that's not nice!"

"Not nice-" England could hear the smirk in Prussia's voice. "But profitable maybe." And before England could do anything to stop it, Prussia had already begun a betting pool in the middle of his living room. "So, anyone think he'll drop out before the halfway point?"

"I'll wager 4,000 Euros that he drops out before the first commercial break!"

"10,000 Euros says he gets through at least three rounds and THEN he drops out."

The numbers mounted and got higher quickly, spurred by Prussia's prodding. A quick glance showed that the albino was jotting these bets down in a small notebook, looking more and more pleased with himself with every passing minute. "So that's 10,000 and a trade agreement from Denmark. No, Russia, I'm afraid you can't wager Estonia - you don't own him anymore, remember? What about you, Specs? Think you can take that stick out of your ass long enough for a friendly wager?"

Austria's voice was dry. "You do realize that if no one bets on America, you're going to owe everyone a lot of money."

A long pause. "Anyone want to vote on America succeeding?" Prussia's voice rose desperately. A moment of silence then. "You! Latvia, you're going to bet 56 million on America winning!"

"But... I can't afford 56 million..."

"56 million from Latvia!"

Oh for heaven's sake... "Stop pushing the Baltics around," England cut in, "You're not Russia!"

Prussia's glance went to him, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "So, you're going to wager on your boy then? Is that what you're saying?" When England hesitated, Prussia leaped on it, sensing impending victory. "I'm sure America would be happy to know you have such confidence in him." Damn it all... He wouldn't put it past Prussia to tell America he'd refused to wager money on his victory...

"Fine." He growled.

"Aha! 56 million from England then! Don't worry, I'm sure you won't regret it."

It was too late, he was already regretting it.

-

"I think he's clutching!" There was a hopeful intake of breath and they pressed closer to the screen while England tried to roll his eyes and failed. He turned, the cooling tea still clutched in his hand. America was having trouble with this question?

_"I have to think,"_ America's voice came from the television and England could hear it in his tone. America was actually uncertain. _"Earhart was pretty awesome, but it wasn't her. I would have remembered that. Lindbergh…no, wasn't him. Definitely wasn't the Wright brothers…"_

No, that wasn't right... England bit his lip to keep from yelling the right answer at the screen - it would have done no good and it would have humiliated him to be caught paying such vivid attention to what was going on.

_"I love aviation history. There's nothing else I know more about. I should know this."_

'Of course you know this, you git.' England thought, biting his lip. 'You've probably mentioned him before.'

_"I don't remember his name."_

A collective gasp from the crowd and England felt sweat beading at his brow. With all of the nations present, it was crowded and hot...

_"Let's talk it out."_ The host was saying, and England could have cheerfully throttled him - and America too, for getting him into this predicament in the first place. England's eyes narrowed, tongue flicking over his lips as he strained to hear what America was saying.

_"Uh…I should know this. I do know this."_

'You do know this.' England set his cup down, half-afraid that he would wind up breaking it from squeezing too hard. 'Come on, Alfred. You don't want to make a fool of yourself on live television, do you?' Oh, and there was the matter of England's ill-timed monetary wager too, but that didn't seem important right now.

_"You know, you still have twenty-five thousand dollars saved. That's a pretty big chunk of change."_

"Yeah, but it's not big enough. I came here to win one million dollars, and that's just what I'm going to do!"

England buried a feline smile behind one hand. It didn't matter, none of them were looking in his direction anyway. But there was some part of England that was relieved to see this flash of spirit - even if America got this wrong, he was going to try and take it all the way. It was one of the things England both liked about America and found infuriating as all hell.

_"Chuck Yeager! Final answer!"_ America's voice rang out, bright and confident. England had no clue if this was the right answer or not, but America wasn't backing down on it. England's fingers squished at the knitted doily sitting beside his abandoned cup as the host dithered.

_"Well, I said that there was a chance that history could be made tonight." _Ridiculous. Entertainment perhaps, or something to razz America over later, but there was nothing truly significant about this game show... England thought of the 56 million he had riding on America and was forced to change his mind - this particular game show might have been about to have a profound effect on world finances.

That drawn out pause then: _"And…you __**made it**__!"_ It was all England managed to catch before the room exploded into cacophony.

-

It took a while before the hubbub began to die down - disconsolate nations handing their money and signatures to Prussia, who sat there, smug as a cat as he collected on the wagers. Even having to give out a certain amount in victory money, it was clear that the albino was coming out way ahead in this deal.

Once the crowd began to thin, England wound his way toward the couch. He didn't really care about the money, but he didn't put it past Prussia to take the winnings and disappear for a while without remember that he owed. Even with most of the other nations gone, England wasn't the only one collecting. He took a step back, surprised to see Cuba accepting a stack of bills and papers. "Cuba?"

"England." Cuba dipped his head in acknowledgement, taking a puff from his cigar as he counted out the money from Prussia.

"You bet on America?" England blinked several times, staring from Cuba's matter-of-fact expression to the bills in his hands. "But you hate him!"

"Yes. But I knew he could win, even so. And it will wound his pride so, to be responsible for so many of my new sanctions and trade agreements." As easygoing as his tone was, England imagined that Cuba was more than a little smug as he wended his way toward the front door. And in some twisted way, it did make sense...

"Arthur!" France crowed from behind him, arms wrapping around England in an enthusiastic hug. "It has been fun! Be sure to thank America and give him a kiss for me when you see him!"

"...you didn't bet on him, Francis."

"Non! But he has given me the opportunity to twist your pants in a knot and for that I am always grateful. But if you do not want to pass on my message, I can express this gratitude to him myself!" There was a suggestive twist to France's lips, a glint in his eyes that England well recognized.

"Hands off, Frog!" He snapped, bristling. England might have tried expressing his dislike by propelling France out of the nearest window, but France was faster despite being at least somewhat inebriated and he had enough experience after all these centuries to anticipate the move. He ducked out of the way with a laugh, leaving England grasping at nothing. By the time England had reached the front door, France was already making his way down the walk with a sort of drunken sashay, humming some nameless tune.

After debating for a moment on whether or not he wanted to follow and smack some sense into the lecher, England decided it was a waste of time. Besides, and he sighed as he closed the door and made his way back into the living room, where trash and empty bottles were scattered across the floor and chairs were in disarray, as satisfying as it might have been to beat Francis into a bloody pulp, it wasn't going to get his house clean any faster. Dully, England turned the waste bin right side up and began to pick up the mess.

He'd managed to clean up enough that at least he didn't have to cringe at seeing the room before he noticed the blinking light on the recorder. A flush came into his cheeks - he'd forgotten he set that! Of course, he'd also been fully intending to erase it before America arrived - as England knew he would, there was no way America was not planning to come over, especially with his victory in hand. England darted a guilty glance around the room, despite already knowing no one was there, then he curled up on the couch and hit the button on the remote.

England didn't pay much attention to what the host or the kids were saying, or even what America was saying, really. He was watching America's expression, the shifts in America's body language. When America would do that little cheer at the end of every successful answer, England couldn't help but smile. It was good to have the crowd gone, because he wouldn't have wanted to be caught dead grinning like an idiot to see America flustered at the geography question but still managing to get it right.

When he got to the final question, he was leaning forward in his seat. Oh, he already knew America had gotten it right, he even knew what it was - what the answer was - but it was the first time he was seeing the slightly lost expression on America's face, the way the vaunted hero rallied gamely despite this.

Despite himself, he gave a small nod of satisfaction as America pulled the correct answer out at the last moment, leaning back against the cushions and sighing. "Idiot." A smile curled at the edges of his lips, disappearing as the recording stopped short of the end. England looked down at the remote, fiddling with the settings for a moment, to no avail. The show had run a bit over or his recorder had cut a little short and the last minute or so had been completely cut-off.

"Bloody useless device!" He swore at it, dropping to one knee beside the television. "I wanted to see the end too!"

"Good to know you care, Arthur!" England yelped, almost falling over himself as he whirled around. America was standing there, hands in his pockets and his head tipped slightly to one side. His grin was casual, almost lazy, but there was a bright excitement in the blue of his eyes. "Sorry I'm late. Celebrations and all." His arms slid around England and despite the soft grumbles about America nearly giving him a heart attack, England returned the hug.

"So," England sighed, red creeping into his cheeks at being caught watching the playback. "How did it end?"

"Well, I won!" America crowed, soft but triumphant. "And I'm awesome and..."

England cut off his gushing with a kiss that had America melting against him. He pulled back and America still seemed a little shell-shocked, grinning like a lovesick idiot. "So you're awesome. And?"

"And?" America blinked a few times, looking stunned, brows furrowed a bit. England only smirked, saying nothing, then America perked up. "Oh! Oh yeah!" He flashed a grin, raising his chin proudly. "And I _am_ smarter than a fifth grader!"

-End-


End file.
